


Sex in the Forge

by MasterOfThePen



Category: Bastion
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Community: bastionkinked, Consensual Sex, Kink Meme, M/M, POV First Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 03:32:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterOfThePen/pseuds/MasterOfThePen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the anonymous prompt on the bastionkinked community at dreamwidth. </p>
<p>Prompt: "The Kid is fixing up his weapons in the forge, and Zulf is keeping him company/watching him work for whatever reason. The sight of the Kid's sweaty body gets him increasingly worked up, to his embarrassment. Cue funtimes. (consensual please)"</p>
<p>Link to original post: http://bastionkinked.dreamwidth.org/404.html?thread=26260#cmt26260</p>
    </blockquote>





	Sex in the Forge

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the anonymous prompt on the bastionkinked community at dreamwidth. 
> 
> Prompt: "The Kid is fixing up his weapons in the forge, and Zulf is keeping him company/watching him work for whatever reason. The sight of the Kid's sweaty body gets him increasingly worked up, to his embarrassment. Cue funtimes. (consensual please)"
> 
> Link to original post: http://bastionkinked.dreamwidth.org/404.html?thread=26260#cmt26260

“Is it all right… if I watch you work?” I ask, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

The young Caelondian looks puzzled for a moment, but a quick shrug of his shoulders is affirmation enough. “Just keep your distance. Too many sparks jumpin’ all over the place. Wouldn’t want your fancy clothes to catch fire, right?”

“Certainly not,” I say, trying to return the Kid’s grin, but the expression feels wrong somehow. I let it fall from my face.  “I’d rather not add burns to the list of injuries I’ve sustained already…”

I bite my lip. Too late. The words have already flown, and the Kid turns to stare fixedly at my right arm. Shame burns through my face, hotter than the forge’s fire. I tug at my sleeve, hiding the bandages which wrap the length of my arm from wrist to elbow. I turn my face to one side, only to realize that the Kid can get a clear look at the square of gauze covering my cheek. I can only hope it’s enough to hide the blush suffusing my face.

The Kid remains silent for many long moments. I refuse to look at him. I can’t bring myself to look into his eyes.

After a while, I hear the ring of metal striking metal. The sound resonates throughout the forge like a bell ringing within a shrine. I look up. The Kid has returned to his work.

I can see the flames reflected in his eyes, like a pair of bright stars burning in the firmament. His gaze is focused squarely on the piece of scrap iron clutched in his tongs as he pounds it into shape with his hammer. He maneuvers the red-hot metal expertly and brings the hammer down again and again. Sparks shower the hard-packed floor and are quickly extinguished. I have become entranced by the music being coaxed forth by the Caelondian’s work.

“There is music within the metal,” the Kid says.

I blink. The spell has been broken. “Come again?”

He doesn’t look up from his work, doesn’t break his rhythm. “The Masons. They taught me all about buildin’ and breakin’. You just gotta find the music in the metal. When you hit her just right, she sings… And when you hit her wrong, she screams. That’s the difference. Anything built with a hammer can also be destroyed by it.”

“Just like the Wall…” I say softly.

The Kid must have heard me, for he pauses in his work. “Yeah… Just like the Wall.”

“I’m sorry.” I let my gaze fall to the floor.

No response. I’ve probably offended him with my callous statement. No matter what I do, I just can’t seem to carry on a proper conversation without stumbling headlong into some unsavory topic, only to apologize for it afterward. I seem to be doing that a lot, lately. It’s been this way ever since the Kid brought me back from the Terminals…

He works the metal for a little while longer. I watch as it takes shape. He is crafting what appears to be a rather sizeable knife blade, something akin to the ones I utilize in the kitchen. Satisfied with the final product, he quenches the metal in a barrel of water. The water boils and hisses. Clouds of steam jet upward, creating a thin veil between myself and the Caelondian.

When it clears, he sets his tools aside, yanks the bandanna from his neck, and mops the sweat from his brow. His entire body is covered in a moist sheen; the exposed parts, anyway, and there is much that is exposed. His entire upper body is naked, save for a pair of heavy leather gloves, filthy and well-worn. He closes his eyes, sighing as he rubs the back of his neck with the sodden bandanna.

I find myself staring at the way his biceps flex and bulge with the movement. My pulse quickens. Beads of sweat crawl down his bronzed skin, gravitating toward the crevices formed by his exquisitely sculpted abdominals. My blood is pounding hard and fast. His white hair, damp from his exertions, clings to his forehead. Our eyes meet. Sparks tingle down my spine, straight for my groin, and a heated blush rises to my face. I quickly avert my gaze and run a hand through my hair, as though I, too, am merely wiping sweat from my brow.

“It’s, uh… rather hot in here, isn’t it?” I regret the words immediately. I must sound like a complete idiot!

“Well, this _is_ a forge, you know?” I can hear the chuckle, barely restrained, in the Kid’s voice. “And you’re wearin’ an awful lot of layers.”

Did I hear that right? Is it my imagination, or is the Caelondian actually _flirting_ with me? I fix the Kid with a questioning look. A wry grin curls his lips. My heart pounds painfully in my chest.

“I… I don’t know what you mean…” My fingers tug at the black ribbon tied in a neat bow beneath my collar. It feels like a stranglehold around my throat.

Slowly, the Caelondian strips off his gloves, tucking them into his belt. He approaches, and I cannot help but notice the slight swagger to his gait. Normally, such an arrogant gesture from a Caelondian would have my dander up, but this is _the Kid_ , and he’s half-naked, and my eyes are tracing a burning path from throat to navel… Gods above and below! I wrench my gaze back to his eyes and they are practically _smoldering_ with unabashed lust and I feel myself melting beneath that heated look.

“Plenty of layers,” the Kid says, his voice dropping to a throaty purr, “but not enough to hide the tent you’re pitchin’.”

His gaze flicks down to my groin and I clap a hand to my mouth to stifle an undignified squeak. The Kid advances on me, slowly and deliberately, like a tawny predator in search of prey, but I do not retreat. I want to feel those rough lips on my throat, those white teeth nicking at my skin. I want to be devoured.

The Kid reaches up and tugs my hand from my mouth, pulling it toward my waist. His eyes have taken on a reddish hue, the color of old blood. Instinctively, I dip my head toward him and his lips brush against mine. Dry, rough, but it’s not an unpleasant sensation.

“Do you want help with that?” he asks, and I revel at the feeling of his mouth rasping against my lips with each word.

I draw in a shuddering breath before I speak. “I believe it’s only fair that you take responsibility—”

Apparently, that’s all the consent he needs because his mouth is crushing my lips in a hungry kiss and his fingers are twisted in the lapels of my vest, pulling me lower. I don’t mind a bit. Such is the plight of one whose attractions run toward short and solidly built. I part my lips, inviting him in. His tongue invades my mouth in a hostile takeover. A harsh moan forces its way up my throat and into the Caelondian’s mouth.

He breaks off the kiss abruptly. “Did that hurt?” he asks, the fire in his eyes dimming just a little.

“N-No, not at all! Why do you ask?”

“Just thought I might’ve hit a tender spot, that’s all.” He spares a quick glance at the gauze on my cheek.

I shake my head. “Well, that wasn’t the case.” I lean forward until our foreheads touch. “Now, may we continue, please?”

His smirk is answer enough. He kisses me again, more gently this time, but it is by no means any less passionate. My tongue is sucked into his mouth and the sensation tugs at nerve-endings leading directly to my groin. I can feel my cock throbbing insistently. My body longs for a more substantial contact, and I nudge my hips against the hardness of the Kid’s belly, hoping that he’ll take the hint.

Mercifully, he does. He pushes me back, gently but firmly, until my rear bumps into his workbench and I am forced to sit down. Now the Caelondian is the one towering above me, but not for long. He lowers himself to his knees, his face hovering near my still clothed erection. There is a small wet stain standing in stark contrast against the colorful fabric. A playful grin spreads across the Kid’s face as he presses one blunt fingertip against the tip of my cock and traces a circle with the moistened fabric, which causes the stain to spread. I tip my head back and moan piteously.

“P-Please…” My breath has gone ragged. “If you don’t… stop teasing me, I’ll—” The words are lost in a keening little whine as the Kid wraps his fingers around my cock and begins to stroke me through my skirt. The sodden silk slipping against my heated flesh is absolutely exquisite.

“You’ll what? Call the Marshals on me?” His hand stills for the moment.

“Indeed, I shall.”

“On what charges?”

“For being entirely too sexy.” Now it’s my turn to grin at him salaciously. “It’s downright criminal, if you ask me.”

My response appears to have the desired effect. “Then I guess I’d better do as you say, huh?” The Kid spares me a small smile before he leans forward and places a kiss against the tip of my cock. I exhale softly, more from the tenderness of the action than from the wonderful sensation it evokes. “And since you asked so nicely…”

Rough hands slide against my legs, beneath my skirt, pushing it upward. I gather the folds and pull them up against my waist, holding them in place so that Kid can work, unimpeded. I can feel every callous as his fingers clutch at my bare thighs, spreading them apart. Thankfully, there are no undergarments to work around.

“Do you always go around like this?” The Kid asks, and I can feel his warm breath against me. I shiver with anticipation.

“Like what?” I ask, annoyed with the delay.

“You know… No underwear.”

“It’s… It’s traditional among my people.” I bite back another whimper as the Kid licks the underside of my shaft. “We don’t… wear anything under—” Another moan tears itself from my throat as the Kid’s tongue teases the tip. “—under our skirts…”

“Sounds kinda perverted, if you ask me.”

“It is _not_ pervert—Ohhhhh…  _Fuuuuuck,_ keep doing thaaaaaat…”

His lips are wrapped around the head while his fingers are wrapped around the shaft. He moves his hand in slow, steady strokes, and the rhythm reminds me of his work at the forge. I let my eyes slip close and listen to the sounds of his exquisite sucking, the harsh panting of my own breath. My fingers tighten their grip in the folds of my skirt.

“Yes… Just like that…” I peer at the Kid through my lashes, but his head has disappeared beneath my skirt, so all I can see are his shoulders, muscles bunching and relaxing as he works. “You don’t… have to be so… gentle about it…”

This is only my third—how shall I say—encounter with the Kid. The first time was behind the Shrine, which consisted of a confused exchange of words and kisses that somehow led to desperate rubbing and humping, until the both of us were left sweating and exhausted and satisfied. Those exertions put a bit of a strain on my injured body, so that’s why the second time had been more leisurely. The Kid waited until I had recovered from our first encounter before approaching me in my tent one evening, his body spooning up next to mine, hands shifting beneath my skirt. He’d been maddeningly slow then, and I threatened to roll him on his back and take my pleasure from him if he didn’t hurry things up. It took a little coaxing, but he acquiesced to my wishes, and my body was left exhausted but completely unscathed.

But there is some part of me, deep inside, that _wants_ the Kid to hurt me. Perhaps it’s some perverse way of absolving me of my guilt, or maybe I’m just a masochist at heart, but I long for that fire in the Kid’s eyes, hot enough to burn me to ash with a single glance. I want those hands—those strong, implacable hands—to pin me down in a vice-like grip and grant me no quarter. I want those teeth at my throat, tearing into me. I want pain and pleasure to intermingle so that I may learn to forget those things which are no longer allowed me.

Perhaps Hense has heard my silent prayer. The Kid has forgotten his earlier restraint and his rhythm has grown more frantic. Both hands are on my hips, fingers digging into my flesh with enough force that there are sure to be bruises afterward. I hiss in pleasure as his nails bite into my skin. I want to bleed. I want to suffer. I want to be broken down and built up anew.

“Don’t hold back… Please… I—” My spine arches and—I’m embarrassed to admit—a shriek of pure ecstasy tears itself from my throat as the Kid takes me, all of me, deep into the cavern of his mouth, his teeth scraping against my sensitive skin, but hell if I care, it’s all so _fuckdamnwonderful_ , and I tell him so, my voice rising in pitch, lingering on the last syllable, as though I am singing a paean to the gods, and my hips buck against his face, and his fingers dig sharply into my hips, a warning, as if to tell me to remain steady, and I try, Hense help me, I _try_ , but I can’t, my body is like a runaway train and my brain is just along for the ride, so I am grateful when the Kid presses his full weight upon my hips, anchoring me to the workbench while he milks me of every last drop and my body is trembling so hard I am certain that I will break apart, surely no mortal was ever meant to experience so much pleasure in their lifetime, let alone in a single moment. Oh, Hense be praised!

My body crumples forward as the warm glow of post-orgasmic bliss washes over me. I press my face against the Kid’s sweaty back, listening to the rasping of his breath beneath my ear. My fingers skim across his warm skin, seeking purchase, but there is nothing within reach for me to grasp. So I lay there, panting, letting the Kid’s sweat dampen my hair. He shifts beneath me, his hands taking hold of my shoulders, and lifts me up, pushing me into a sitting position once more. My eyes flutter open and I stare down at him drunkenly.

“You gonna be alright?” the Kid asks, and I can’t help but pick up the note of worry in his voice.

“I-I’m fine, yes. Of course.”

“Oh, okay.” He seems somewhat relieved. “You just said something weird earlier.”

“I… I did…?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t understand it, but I didn’t wanna stop and ask because, well…” There was no need to finish the sentence.

I realize then that I must have slipped back into my native tongue while the Kid had been sucking me off. “What I was trying to say before was…” I pause, start over. “It… roughly translates to… ‘Keep fucking me until I sing’.”

The Kid blinks for a moment. And then he grins, and it’s like watching the sun break through cloud cover. “Well, that was a mighty fine tune you sang for me. Prettiest little ditty I ever heard.”

A blush makes its way to the roots of my hair. I try to stammer something indignant, but the Kid is pulling himself to his feet and his lips are upon mine, silencing any further protestations and that is fine by me. I taste myself upon his tongue, salty-bitter, and deepen the kiss, my fingers weaving into his downy soft hair, pulling him closer.

A few moments later, we pull apart. I stare into his eyes and am pleased to see that the fire has not quite died but is smoldering quietly. Surely, I can stir up the embers and rekindle the blaze.

“That was… What you did for me there was wonderful,” I say, wishing I could string together a simple thought without stumbling over my words. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” the Kid says, “but do you always gotta be so formal? I mean, even while I was sucking you off, it’s all ‘please’ and ‘thank you’.”

“It’s the mark of a true gentleman,” I say, “and a gentleman always returns a favor.” My gaze travels down toward the sizable bulge straining against the Kid’s pants.

“It’s… It’s fine! Really!” The Kid edges back a few inches. “ ‘Sides, I can take care of myself.”

I stand, feeling the whispered touch of my skirts sliding down my legs. “I don’t mind. I _want_ to do this.” I start to lower myself to my knees, but the Kid grabs me by the shoulders and hauls me back up.

“Zulf.” It’s the first time he’s said my name during this encounter, and hearing the strain in his voice at that word pierces my heart. “You’re hurt right now, and I don’t want you to—”

“Stop treating me like I’m some _invalid_!” I wrench free of the Kid’s grasp, and we are both surprised by the sheer _venom_ in my tone. “I am sick and tired of everyone handling me with kid gloves, as though the slightest touch will shatter me.” I draw myself to my full height, shoulders squared. “I am an Ura, a Child of the Earth, and we are a proud people. In my veins flows the magma of the Cauldron, my bones are the ancient rocks which form the foundation of the world. I _will not_ break as easily as that.”

The Kid stares at me, and something flickers in his eyes: anger, hate, lust? All of that, and more? He opens his mouth, but I don’t give him time to speak. I close the small distance between us and grab fistfuls of his hair, jerking his face against mine. I force my tongue past his lips and practically shove it down his throat, and when he moans, hands clinging desperately to my shoulders, I feel myself growing hard again.

I know that I am not terribly strong, but when I lean my weight against the Kid’s body and force him to the ground, he topples beneath me. I find myself astride his hips and our lips are still locked together. We grind against each other, knowing that it won’t be enough, but neither of us wants to break contact just yet.

The Kid tucks one hand between us and fumbles at his belt buckle. He appears to be having some trouble, so I break off the kiss and push his hand aside, sliding the battered leather from the buckle and unzipping his fly. He pushes down the waistband of his pants and boxers in one rough motion. I inhale sharply at the sight of his magnificent cock springing forth. It is my first time seeing it, and I am certainly not disappointed. Though in terms of length, it doesn’t quite measure up to mine, it is just as solid and heavy as the rest of him. My own cock twitches in excitement as I imagine what it would be like to have such a truncheon pounding me with the force of a hammer blow. But I have a feeling that the Kid won’t go for it without the proper preparation, so I file that away for a future encounter.

“Do all Masons carry around hammers like this or are you just a special case?” I wrap my fingers around his hefty shaft and stroke him a couple times, delighting in the way his body squirms beneath me. He mumbles something that sounds like, “Shut up, you jerk,” but I can’t be too sure. I’m too busy licking at the fold of skin bunched up behind the head of his cock. I can hear the Kid choke off a cry of pleasure as he shoves his fist into his mouth. I tease him mercilessly, alternating between sucking and licking.

Suddenly, I hear the Kid’s voice, little more than a strangled whisper. “Wait… Hang on a sec... I wanna try something…”

I pause, looking up, my fingers still curled around his cock. “Turn around,” he says, illustrating with a gesture—twirling one finger in a circle, “so you’re sitting on my face. We can suck each other off at the same time.”

My lips peel back in a voracious smile. “A splendid idea, if I do say so myself.”

I shift positions, planting my knees on either side of the Kid’s head. Our differences in height aren’t so great as to make the position uncomfortable, but I have to arch my spine just a bit. He flips my skirts over my hips and pulls me down, taking me into his mouth. I bite back a whimper because he’s not holding back at all this time, and the different position creates a whole new set of sensations, and he’s doing some _very_ interesting things with his tongue... By Hense! I’m so distracted that I nearly forget what I’m supposed to be doing, and the Kid is quick to remind me with a sharp little slap on my ass.

Well, I’m feeling a bit competitive now. I have my pride as an Ura, after all, and I refuse to come before a Caelondian! I dip my head between his legs and set myself to the task at hand. The Kid may have a head start, but I have some experience in these matters. I bob my head against him and hum the tune to some bawdy song I once overheard in a tavern, long ago. The Kid shivers beneath me and responds with a song of his own. I very nearly lose the melody as I moan against him, but I use the added vibration to my advantage. The Kid answers with a few little teasing swipes of his tongue. It’s certainly distracting, but not enough to make me break my rhythm. I give his cock a mighty suck, like I’m taking a deep drag on my glass pipe.

One drag is all it takes, apparently, but I’m grateful that the Kid doesn’t pass out right away. His fingers claw against my hips and his spine arches beneath me. His seed floods my mouth and I lap it up greedily as his hips buck crazily beneath me.

Just as I release him—taking a deep breath for some much needed air—the Kid decides to mimic my earlier technique and takes a drag on the pipe between my legs. I throw my head back with a warbling little cry, nearing my peak, and the Kid takes a second drag. My knees begin to tremble as my voice keens away into song and my vision explodes into starbursts as I come.

Finally spent, I hang my head, hair falling into my eyes, and try to catch my breath. It’s a very good thing that the Kid is holding my hips steady because I’m fairly certain that I would have collapsed if not for his support. I roll clumsily to one side, breathing heavily. My clothes are soaked with sweat, the delicate fabric clinging to my legs and back. I stare at the ceiling, listening to the rush of blood in my ears subside.

Slowly, the Kid sits up, runs a hand through his hair, pushing sodden bangs from his eyes. He wipes his mouth with the back of one hand and looks down at me. I flash him a tired smile.

“You’re gonna be sportin’ a few new bruises after this.” He says with a lopsided grin. I groan inwardly. “Zia’s gonna kill me if she finds out how you got them.”

I wave the comment off as though brushing away a gnat. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll think of something. It’s what I’m good at. Mostly.” Right now, though, complicated thoughts are out of the question.

The Kid’s expression softens and he stretches out beside me. Despite the ambient heat of the forge, the sweat on my body is growing chill, and I appreciate the warmth of the Caelondian’s body next to mine, the massive arm curling about my waist, pulling me close. Those arms have torn the world asunder and yet I cannot help but feel _safe_ within them. My eyes slip close and I sigh softly. I feel as though I am curled within the dark comfort of an Ura den.

The Kid nuzzles my neck and I feel his breath against my ear. “You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

“Okay with what?”

“You know. Us. _Like this_.”

“What do you mean?” I turn my head and blink blearily at him.

“Well… I’m a Caelondian…”

“And?”

The Kid pauses and the dumbstruck look on his face is so comical, I want to laugh out loud. But I’m too tired for such exertions. “Never mind,” he says, smiling down at me. He presses a kiss to my forehead and nestles closer to me. The forge is silent, save for the Kid’s steady breath against my neck.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t have lingering feelings. Against Caelondia, its people, even the Kid. But I’m working through them, slowly but surely. I cannot bring myself to hate the Kid. I just… can’t. And maybe it’s because, despite everything that has happened in the past, the Kid can’t bring himself to hate me, either. He saved me because he saw something in me that was worth saving. I’m still trying to figure out what that thing is, and why he cherishes it so much.

I will never know the depths of his magnanimity. I will never understand the inner workings of his heart. But I can try, at least. Call it penance, call it curiosity, call it whatever you like. I am bound up irrevocably with the fate of the Bastion and its inhabitants, all because the Kid chose to forge a path into the future instead of constantly looking back to the past.

And maybe I’ll be able to do the same. I pray to Lemaign that, someday, I will.


End file.
